A Spirited Drive (One Shot)
by wahs96
Summary: "Maybe we're just heroine addicts. What's the difference between automobiles and methamphetamine?"


**One shot. Wrote this as a flash fiction a while ago and figured it was good enough for FFnet. I wanted to make it as a trippy as possible, so enjoy.**

 **...**

It was just supposed to be a spirited drive. Or at least, that's how he had planned it.

2AM is a hard hour, it doesn't matter if you've been staring at your clock, wide awake since you got into bed, or if you awoke suddenly and find those glowing digital numbers glaring at you in the darkness, 2AM is a hard hour. He didn't even quite remember if he had been asleep or not, but at 2AM he had found himself sitting up in bed, staring at the digital clock. A fear had overcome him in that moment, a claustrophobic-like panic. He was _trapped_ in that little tiny room, or at least that's how he felt. What motivated him in this moment was a sudden need to escape. It took him no time at all. Pants, jacket, shoes, wallet, keys, cigarettes; it was all already laid out on the floor, he didn't even need to turn on the lights to get all the objects together in their correct positions.

There was already a lit cigarette in his mouth when he stepped out the front door and into the driveway, where the car was sitting. When he looked up from his shoes and caught a glimpse of it in the moonlight he stopped, and took a moment to just stare at it. It looked ready, almost. Eager, like it had been waiting for him. Like it knew.

He sighed, "Demons that so possess me," he said in the darkness, to no one.

Once he was inside it, strapped in, trapped inside the tight seat, his hands and feet fell into their proper positions. Everything from this point on was a little something like love, a little something like art, and a little something like anger. Trying to narrow it down anymore than that would be pointless. Now, it was time for a spirited drive.

It didn't take him long to get to _The Road_ , that is, the road he always went to in these early morning hours. The rhythm of it had become familiar to him quickly, and he could drive smoothly while just balancing on the threshold of a felony speeding violation without so much as a thought, and he did so now. To anyone that may have been sitting next to him in the passenger seat, it may appear as though the trees were flying by at an alarming rate. But to him it just felt like… meditation, just enough speed to clear the mind, as he cleared each corner with a masterful level of threshold braking and heal-and-toe downshifting.

Suddenly, a flash in his mirrors caught his eye. No red and blue lights, of course. Those guys never bothered anyone on this particular road. But headlights none the less. Quite a routine thing to happen here at night, at these speeds, but not usually at this hour. He kept driving, and ignored it, taking each corner as it came and not focusing on his rear views. when the other driver got close enough, he would ease up on the gas, making it easier for the other car to pass and then continue on with his drive.

This time, though, the driver of the other car had a different idea. The bright LED lights got dangerously close to his bumper, dogging him. Before too long the yellow blinking of hazard lights began to punctuate the white glow in his mirrors. He sighed and thought, _No, not tonight._ He eased up even more on the throttle, even approaching the speed limit before the other driver seemed to get the idea and pulled into the oncoming lane to pass. However, the other driver didn't speed away. Instead, they just pulled in front and matched his slowing pace, hazard lights still flashing. Now that the other car was in front and he was no longer blinded by it's LED's, he could easily tell what it was. _An Evo X,_ he thought, _I don't recognize it… not from around here._ The car remained in front of him, refusing to pull away. He had to admit that he admired the Evo's determination, and after a couple seconds he took in a deep breath, and hit the button for his own hazards, signalling an acceptance of the challenge.

In an instant, the Evo's hazards were off and it began to accelerate away. He followed suit, downshifting and listening to the whistling of the blow off valve releasing the built up boost pressure. They were on a short straight and he was able to catch Evo before they both had to decelerate for a sharp left-hander. After three or so corners he had enough confidence in the abilities of the driver he was facing to really start to put the pressure on; coming into each corner there was less than a foot of distance between his front bumper and the rear of the Evo. The other driver was able to clearly recognize the braking points for each corner, and didn't panic even when approaching the sharper turns at speed.

At this point he was driving at maybe 7/10ths. For him at that pace, it was unusual to not have passed his opponent already, without too much difficulty. But as the corners flew by, downshift after downshift, dogging the back of the Evo he found it wasn't enough for him to inch by at any point in the road. He felt truly awake now, more awake than he had felt maybe all week, as he examined the car in front of him more closely. Whoever it was, they had some very good basic instincts behind the wheel, unfortunately mated with some very poor habits. He could tell by the lines the Evo was taking into the corners as well as the body roll that the driver was allowing the car's phenomenal level of mechanical grip to compensate greatly for the driver's own inability to properly control its center of gravity. A symptom characteristic of someone who learned performance driving in a car with an advanced all-wheel-drive system, like the one the Evo had. Even considering this, he found the other driver's skill based upon instinct alone admirable.

He gripped the steering wheel a bit harder, he was intrigued but decided it was time to end it. Three corners ahead was a deceptive left-hander that appeared very wide but actually sharpened right at the end. Any driver that didn't know there own car and this road like the back of their hand would inevitably have to brake hard after the apex of the turn and suffer massive understeer, forcing their car to the outside. He would take advantage of his unavoidable mistake and slip past on the inside at the very end of the turn, and then simply drive off at 8 or 9/10ths, leaving the headlights of his opponent behind him in the night.

As they approached the corner, the events unfolded exactly how he had predicted them. The Evo driver scrubbed their speed a moment too late, initiating the turn at just above the threshold of what was appropriate for this corner. All he had to do now was point his own machine at the inside line of the corner and wait for the inevitable. Sure enough, not more than a few feet after the apex the true nature of this tricky corner revealed itself to the Evo driver, and he hit the brake, albeit with an impressive amount of skill, balancing on the threshold of losing grip. However, at this point it made no difference; the Evo slowed and drifted to the outside and he accelerated and passed cleanly on the inside. Once he was clear of the corner he glanced in his rearview and his eye's widened as time seemed to slow down. He watched as the driver of the Evo attempted to recover and gain their ground back by stomping on the gas, only have to the rear end of the car kick out the outside. It was too extreme of angle to recover from, and the Evo began spinning down the road behind him. He watched the car spin almost a full two times before coming to a stop facing the opposite direction, back up the road. Time suddenly sped back up to its normal pace again, and he as he looked forward he had to slam on the brakes himself to avoid plowing through the next turn and into the trees. Once his car had come to a halt, he simply sat there, stunned for a minute, staring at the trees in front of him and breathing, heavily. It was a close call like he hadn't had in a long time.

He closed his eyes and took in one deep breath to collect himself and his thoughts, before putting his car into reverse and backing up, into the small shoulder area just before the corner. He pulled the parking brake, put on his hazard lights, and grabbed his cigarettes before stepping out. He needed a smoke, badly. He stepped around to the back of the car and leaned against the trunk. As he pulled a cigarette from his pack, he watched the Evo turn around and slowly come down the road towards him. Even with a stock exterior, it was a menacing looking machine. As he lit his cigarette, the Evo pulled into the shoulder behind his own car.

He was interested to get a look at the driver, and watched patiently as the driver's side door opened. It surprised him only a little when the form of a woman stepped out of the car and into the cool night air. This surprise didn't show on his face, though. He could tell that she was probably early-to-mid twenties, but all other details were forfeited in this darkness. She closed the door, but remained by the side of machine, and locked eyes with him. He said nothing, just stared back at her with the burning cigarette dangling out of his mouth.

"I've been coming every night for almost two weeks, looking for you," she said, "your reputation precedes you." Her form was taught and confident, she stood straight and sturdy, closed fists at her sides.

In contrast, he was practically collapsed, hunched forward and allowing his trunk lid to bare the brunt of his weight. Maybe when he was younger he would have cared slightly more about his appearence, but not anymore. "You know, every time I hear that I find it to be less and less true," he said, blowing his smoke into the atmosphere. "I don't quite get it, you actually seem pretty smart," he said.

Her eyes narrowed, "What is that supposed to mean? How can you say I'm smart after knowing me for ten seconds?" her tone of voice was more intense now, but it didn't phase him.

"Well first of all, I can tell by the way you've modified that car," he said, "You've done the intake, and the intake manifold to ensure it can breathe properly, as well as adding a less restrictive exhaust system. On top of that, you've had it tuned for the altitude, which isn't something that comes to a lot of people's minds right away." As he spoke, her eyes got wider. "Despite these upgrades you've neglected to significantly increase the power, keeping it in range of what's manageable for you but still allowing enough for you to keep up. In addition, you've upgraded your brakes and your suspension. At the very least you've added track-performance brake pads, and possibly new rotors as well, otherwise you would have started to experience brake-fade long before we reached this point. To top that all off, those aftermarket dampers you have aren't just bolted in, you've actually had them tuned for this type driving. Let me guess, you told the guy at the shop that you were looking for a set good for hill-climb racing?" He allowed himself a small smile, and waited a moment for a response, but all he got was a glare. "Overall it's extremely impressive, if for no other reason than that you've actually seemed to a set a goal that isn't directly related to horsepower figures and went about achieving it in an intelligent manner. Ninety-percent of people that own these cars just try to get to seven-hundred BHP as fast as possible and blow themselves up in the process."

"Whatever," she said, "so you were able to guess a few things about my car. I don't see what you're getting at."

He shrugged, "You're smart," he said, "I want to know how you justify it."

Her frustration seemed to evaporate in an instant, replaced by confusion. "What do you mean? Justify… what?" she asked.

"Let me put it to you this way," he said, "You ever watch Initial D?"

"Well, yeah. But I don't see how that's related," she said.

"More related than you would ever have guessed," he took a long drag from his cigarette, "So there's this guy who's sort of at the center of the show, Ryosuke Takahashi, right? Talk about a guy that has it made; he's a genius, extremely well educated, comes from old money. It's even stated multiple times in the show that he was offered professional racing sponsorships. But he turns them down every time, and dedicates himself completely to one thing: street racing. He approaches street racing like something about it will just click one day and solve world hunger. To most people this would be considered a big misstep for someone with the brains and resources to maybe actually _do something_ about world hunger. Did at any point while watching that show, did you think about how he justified it? How he validated himself?"

She seemed uncomfortable now, "I mean, I guess, but…"

"Now let's look at the Fast and Furious franchise," he said, not allowing her to finish. "Sure, the first one was mostly about street racing, but then they had to keep upping the ante." He flicked the butt of the first cigarette off to the side and immediately pulled another from his pack, "They made one about drug dealers, worse drug dealers, police corruption, terrorists. I think they're up to seven of those movies now," he mumbled through closed lips as he lit the new cigarette. "Why?"

She seemed to think for a second before speaking, "Because most people don't care about street racing?"

She had actually engaged him, this was good. "You're right," he said, "but more importantly is the reason _why_ people don't care about street racing. Save for the the first one, what those movies are really about is Saving The World, in one way or another. What happens on screen has to have some real world intrinsic value, some level of self validation. A grudge match between two drivers alone never sells tickets, but if you can somehow apply the skills of those two drivers to stopping the South and Central American drug cartels, you've got a box office hit. That's why Initial D is unheard of amongst anyone who isn't a real enthusiast, but every frat boy who can't tell the difference between an alternator and a turbocharger will shell out ten bucks a ticket to see Vin Diesel pop wheelies in his GTO." He paused for a second to take a long drag before continuing, "And people like you and me will go see those movies because we have to believe that this unique skill set we posses could actually amount to something one day. It validates us."

"But do we really need to validate what we do?" she asked.

The question actually caught him off guard, most people would have stopped listening by this point. He allowed himself a small chuckle. "Let me ask you this," he said, "have you had a lot of trouble with that car?"

"Well, it is a car," she said, "there's always something going wrong, something that could be fixed."

"I know enough about Lan Evo's to know that they're anxiety machines," he said, glancing away from her and toward the car, "when they're operating at their peak they're unstoppable. But getting them to operate that way on a regular basis is quite the balancing act. I'm sure you've had no shortage of panicked moments, scrambling to find a part or listening for knock. Considering how much you obviously care about this car, it's reasonable to assume that it's the cause of the majority of your anxiety on a day-to-day basis. Maybe you've even had a panic attack about it. Am I right?" He asked, looking back up toward her eyes.

"I think that everyone who has ever loved a car has a felt that way," she said, stoic.

"And yet, there are people out there that are starving, that don't have clean water, that can't pay their bills on time. So how do we justify it? How do we validate ourselves? What gives us the right to have anxiety about an automobile when there are people in this world having anxiety about the lead in their tap water, or being able to feed their children. Do we have a right to our anxiety?"

"Its an emotion," she said, "You don't have to justify any emotion. It's just something you feel, there's nothing you can do about it. What's your angle here, are you trying to guilt me for something that you do as well? It's a bit hypocritical." She folded her arms and raised an eyebrow at him.

He chuckled, "You know what I think? I think maybe it's just addiction," he said, "Maybe there's really not a whole that separates serial street racers from serial heroin users. Two groups of people, participating in a dangerous and illegal act because… emotion," he sighed, "And just like with any other addiction, one day we'll get over it, become normal boring people with jobs we hate and families we weren't sure if we wanted. We'll have a few more good stories than most people but in the end we'll live on and generally be mediocre just like everybody else. Or, we'll allow the addiction to kill us. Just like a heroine addict. At the end of the day what really separates us from them is how the media portrays us; we get Fast and Furious, and Initial D. They get… Trainspotting." He smiled at her, "Definitely the short end of the stick for them, don't you think?"

She remained silent for a moment, glancing to the side at her Lancer, seeming to focus very strongly on it for a hard moment. "No," she said, bringing her eyes back up to meet his, "I think you're wrong."

"Hmm?"

"It's just… there has to be more to it than that," she said, "When someone really, honestly cares about a car you can tell. Like it's got an aura around it, like the person who cares about that car has given a piece of themselves to it. It's a manifestation of their own soul, and I think it's insulting for you to compare that to a street drug!" she practically yelled it at him. "How could you possibly believe that? How could someone who's truly mastered a car talk such a load of bull? Huh?" She didn't mean it as a rhetorical question, but he offered no response. "Even if it's dangerous, even if it's illegal, it still has to _mean_ something, it has too. I know it does! I've been out here every night looking for you, but in doing so I'm chasing more than that. I'm chasing something important."

He grinned at her, "Good," he said, flicking the cigarette off to the side of the road. He stood, and walked around his own car, back toward the driver's side door, "I'll see you tomorrow night, then," he said, over his shoulder. And without another word he got back into his car, and drove off into the night, leaving her and her machine behind, in shock. _Not enough real drivers left in this world,_ he thought, _at least I found one._


End file.
